


downpour

by orphan_account



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 15:29:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A woman dies of kidney failure in Medical. They give Octavia the woman’s only coat. She never uses it, until Lincoln has his first nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	downpour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [naessas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/naessas/gifts).



> for yazzy. happy birthday, my love. also, because jet pack blues gave me serious post-reaper linctavia feels.

A woman dies of kidney failure in Medical. They give Octavia the woman’s only coat—a fluffy black piece with a hood lined with strangled fur. Tears are visible in the arms and torso, and the fabric’s shine is long gone, but it’s warm enough for her.

She never uses it, until Lincoln has his first nightmare. His restless shifts gradually awaken her body, like she’s accustomed herself to knowing when he’s in one of his worse moods. Her fingers curl over his heart as she struggles to open her eyes.

All at once, Lincoln sits up with a gasp, and she jerks awake. “What’s wrong?” she mumbles, her eyes wide open but her brain still uncomprehending. She turns onto her side, studying the moonlight that shines on his skin.

Lincoln looks at her, his eyes black and wild. A few moments pass, filled only by his short, rough breaths. Then he sighs—a short chuff that sounds oddly relieved.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispers. She reaches out and grabs his hand, but after giving it a squeeze releases it and settles back on the bed they’d just been sharing.

His hand had been sweaty, but she doesn’t pick up on that detail. She mumbles something unintelligible and drifts back to sleep with a tiny smile on her face.

When she wakes up, it’s morning—and Lincoln is gone.

She tries not to worry about it. But after asking everyone she knows and not getting any answers—and, worse, as the hours tick by and he doesn’t come back—she grows more and more concerned. Lincoln wouldn’t disappear on her. He wouldn’t leave without her—or, at least, without telling her.

Bellamy finds her in Lincoln’s room at nightfall. A ragged deck of cards is in his hands. “Do you still remember how to play speed?”

Octavia manages a smile. “If you think that you can beat me just cause we haven’t played in a year, you’re dead wrong.”

“Oh yeah? I don’t think so.”

Octavia laughs. As if. She was the master of speed and her brother—to put it nicely—sucked ass. “Bring it, Bell.”

Bellamy brings up the chair she often occupied while waiting for Lincoln to recover. They use the end of the bed as a table. In the course of ten minutes, she beats him three times. As much as she enjoys kicking his ass, she can't help but think of Lincoln. Where _was_ he?

As he shuffles, she looks away from him to peer out the window. Nothing outside has changed. When she turns back to her brother, his smile fades and the façade that hid his concern melts away. “He’ll come back, O.”

“I know,” she says, but she doesn’t, not really. She doesn’t know who Lincoln is anymore after his withdrawal—and worse, she doesn’t think Lincoln does, either.

After the fifth time of winning, she tosses down the cards. “I’m going outside.”

“You’re not going after him,” Bellamy says immediately, standing up. Octavia doesn’t even bother to make a face so she can make fun of him. She grabs the old coat that is now brand new and hers and shrugs it on.

“No, I’m not. I’m not an idiot. But the least I can do is be there when he comes back. I have to do something, Bell. I can’t just sit around and play cards and twiddle my thumbs.”

Bellamy sinks down in the chair, rubbing his chin as he watches his sister. She doesn’t wait for his approval as she leaves the room. But when he doesn’t go after her, she looks over her shoulder and gives him a brief smile before she leaves Mecha Station.

It’s pouring when she gets outside, but she draws up her hood and it doesn’t bother her after that. The only light comes from two makeshift lamps at the front gate. Two men guard it. Octavia swallows and walk toward them.

One of the guards sees her and frowns, walking toward her. “No one leaves camp,” he says. “Chancellor’s orders.”

“I know,” Octavia assures him. “I’m not going to leave, I promise. I just want to wait out the night. I can’t sleep.”

The other guard examines her closely. “You’re Octavia Blake, aren’t you?” he asks. She looks at the man in surprise—his face doesn’t match with any name in her mind. He holds out a hand. “I’m David Miller. Nathan’s father. You can stay. I understand sleepless nights.”

Octavia manages a brief smile and nods her thanks. She walks to the very front of the gates, peering between the bars to watch the forest line for any movement. Since Finn’s death, the Grounder army had packed up and gone back to their villages, so she’s confident that anything she sees would only be an animal or Lincoln.

The rain continues to pour down in hazy sheets, at one point misting everything in front of her over. Octavia grits her teeth and doesn’t leave. She paces in front of the gate, talks to the guards, even sits down when her legs hurt. But she always keeps one eye on the forest line.

When the rain slows to a drizzle, her brother comes out. “You need to sleep,” he tells her in a low, concerned tone. Octavia takes one look at him and huffs.

“You’re one to talk. You don’t look like you’ve slept, either.”

“Octavia, you’ve been up for twenty-four hours. It will be dawn soon.”

“I’m staying here.” Octavia crosses her arms and turns to the forest—and what she sees makes her stop. A human shaped figure walks toward them, even though it’s too dark to be sure. David Miller sees it as well and un-holsters his gun. Before he can shoot, Bellamy’s standing in front of the gun.

“Open the gate,” Octavia breathes. She steps in front of the second guard, who looks at his leader with a questioning gaze. Octavia spreads her arms and says, “Please, I think that’s Lincoln.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” David Miller replies, his eyes trained on Bellamy. “Move aside.”

“Not until you open the gate,” Bellamy replies. “Remember what happened the last time you shot a Grounder? You killed someone who could’ve helped us have a truce with the Grounders. You don’t want to make that mistake again.”

“I’ll come right back,” she promises Miller. The rain dusts her face and runs down her cheeks—though it’s a drizzle now, and the sky is starting to lighten, it shows no signs of stopping. “Please, I’m begging you.”

She doesn’t know how Lincoln left the station if it wasn’t Miller or his man who let him out, but all she knows is that he has to come back. He couldn’t fight whatever demons were plaguing him alone.

Miller’s gaze flickers to Octavia once, then he clenches his jaw and lowers his gun with a brisk nod. Together, he and the other guard open the door, and Octavia sprints.

She reaches the figure in a few moments and breathes a sigh of relief—it is Lincoln. “Lincoln,” she shouts. Lincoln lifts his head and watches her, and the blankness in his expression makes her slow to a walk. Damn her for being so hesitant around him—he’s the same Lincoln. He is.

She approaches him and they stop one foot from each other. “I was worried about you,” she says, stepping closer and reaching for his hand. When she lifts it up, she can see his hand in the gray light. His knuckles are bloody and bruised, and his hand is scraped. “What happened?” she asks, looking up and scanning Lincoln’s face. She’s searching for answers she can’t find, and it frustrates her.

“I needed to be alone,” Lincoln replies, glancing down at his bloodied hands. “I got into a few fights.”

The thought of Lincoln fighting anyone makes her stomach twist, but he’s capable of taking care of himself. He’s proved himself a hundred times over. Octavia gently pries his fist into a hand and slips her palm into his. She looks up and swallows. “You’re here now,” she says, smiling and brushing her thumb across his cheek. “That’s all I care about. But we should get those knuckles checked out so you don’t get infected. What do you say?”

He pulls her into a hug, resting his head on the juncture between her neck and collarbone. They stay there for several minutes, but when she pulls away and smiles at him, he returns it with a slow half-smile. It's something.

Instead of Octavia pulling him along, Lincoln walks right next to her and never lets go of her hand.

* * *

He leaves sometimes, in the middle of the night, when she’s asleep. After the fifth time, she convinces him to not leave her when she’s asleep. Gradually she’s allowed to walk with him to the gate, but no further.

He leaves, but she always waits for him at the gate, and he always comes back. 


End file.
